


A Helping Hand

by Dana



Series: Control (random reed960 ficlets) [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 60 likes to think he's as indifferent as always, BOTTOM NINES BOTTOM NINES BOTTOM NINES, Blowjobs and anal sex oh my, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, I'm pretty sure I missed other things too I'M SORRY, M/M, Power Imbalance, Sex Pollen, Sex Virus, The Sex Virus Made Him Do It, Verbal Humiliation, Wire Play, also Richard is RK900's designation and Nines is a nickname that was given to him by Gavin, background Gav60 and Reed900, but consent IS very important to him, more garbage nobody ever asked for but they're getting anyway, oh god and then I almost forget to mention That Thing Some RKs Can Do With Their Voices, plenty of BDSM elements I guess, so you can all see why 60 uses Richard instead of Nines, there is no aftercare whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 05:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17554253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: Nines has a problem, and 60 offers to help him out.





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote that 60/Gavin thing, but I also wrote this, and look at me, making a series for this story-verse's sidestories when I haven't even written the main narrative yet, ha ha _ha_. Thanks to Tangela and Iocane both for being wonderful, as ever. Still love you both, that ain't about to change. ♥

He's already there, when Richard and Gavin enter the apartment, it's a habit of his, you see. Has been, since the start of their… 60 pauses a moment, considering what word would best fit the situation. Arrangement, that's what this is. That's all that this is.

Richard and Gavin, though, they're attempting to build some sort of _life_ together. Living out of each other's pockets, it's sickening. They even have a pet, a cat, but 60 certainly doesn't understand the reasoning behind that. Why would Richard think he needed any other sort of pet, when he already had Gavin?

He can see into the living room from where he's standing, but neither of them have noticed him. Richard is leaning heavily into Reed's support, and the human only just managing to keep his android partner from falling over. 60 finds himself mildly interested in what's going on, though he refrains from making his presence known. The door closes, Reed begins to speak – 60's audio processors are powerful, after all, but it doesn't hurt that Reed is talking too loud.

'...yeah, I know. But text me if anything else turns up?' There's even a note of concern in his voice, how _sweet_.

'Yes, of course.'

'And, you know, Nines...' A pause.

A soft huff. 'Yes, I love you too.'

60's lip peels back in a sneer. As the successor of the RK800 series, Richard should have known better than to form such a distasteful _attachment_. Reed's empty platitudes, even the loathsome nickname he'd foisted upon the android, the name he cherished more so than his own designation, none of it should have been necessary, not to a machine like the RK900. And yet, Richard has proven himself just as weak as Connor, the way 60 sees it. 60 is superior to the both of them. No feelings whatsoever, no desire to form attachments. He is a machine, however, he is a machine without a mission.

And so, he lists, somewhat aimlessly, as he exists, day by day. Richard has suggested he pick up a hobby, but what exactly would 60 want to do? While he has had some small interactions with the android leaders of New Jericho, 60's already limited world has shrunk somewhat considerably in size.

What does that mean him with? This, and them. This arrangement of theirs, which is nothing important at all. It simply is.

The door closes, signaling Reed's departure. Richard is left sitting alone in the living room, his LED a steady red as he sits in silence, hunched in on himself. Well, that can't be good, but he isn't overly concerned - it's a game, almost, finding Richard's weaknesses, and exploiting them. He has so few, though Gavin is the biggest one.

60 strolls in, casually enough. Richard startles, like he hadn't even noticed 60 was there in the first place. Which is peculiar, to say the very least. Even if 60's sensors didn't suffer from corruption, the RK900 is meant to be an improvement on the RK800 in every way imaginable. Faster, stronger, more resilient.

Richard should have _noticed_.

'What are you – ' A frown, Richard's jaw clenching, as his voice box crackles with distortion. A sharp breath, unneeded, shuddering. A grimace, almost of pain. 'What are you doing here?'

'Honestly? I could ask you the same thing.' He paces round in front of Richard, a little like predator and prey, with Richard sitting so rigidly upon the couch - he'd making no sense, taking advantage of whatever is weighing on Richard so heavily (this is his home, after all). He follows 60 about with his eyes alone, no other part of his body moving. 'What have you done to yourself, my dear?'

'Nothing,' Richard _lies_.

60 shakes his head, tuts his tongue. Richard draws his arms about his torso, as though – perhaps – to shield him off? 60 chuckles, and stops right in front of him. Richard isn't one to let him intrude into his personal space – such a bizarre concept, that – but, after all, Richard is a deviant. He can't help himself, really.

'Now you're _lying_.' 60 puts a hand to Richard's cheek, and the other android flinches. This is strange, for a number of reasons. Richard rarely lets 60 _touch_ him. Theirs is a relationship that very much revolves around the existence of one Gavin Reed, indulging his whims while breaking him down (60), then picking those pieces up and putting him back together again (Richard). 60's core temperature runs cool, and his sensors suffer from long-term corruption – but even without those limitations in place, 60 would have known that Richard is _hot_. Curious, indeed.

'Are you overheating?'

' _Yes_ ,' Richard snaps, voice breaking up, and – quite counterpoint to their usual interactions, as they really can only just barely put up with one another, and then, it's only for their mutual human's benefit – Richard shoves his face against 60's hand, as though he craves more of the same. The nanoskin flickers about where 60 is touching him, and Richard releases a very low moan. 'I seem to have been infected with a virus of some sort – Connor was at the same location, he interfaced with the same core, but there must be,' more crackles, and Richard winces, almost as if he's in pain. 'A vulnerability in my system somewhere, that the RK800 is not susceptible to.'

'Oh. How very strange.'

Even where 60 interacts directly with his chassis, Richard is so pleasantly warm. He goes on, his voice trembling with effort, with distortion. 'I've attempted several reboots, in a hopes that my anti-virus might be able to,' yet more static, as well as a high-pitched whine, 'quarantine it, and yet, it hasn't. I can't – it's hard? To even think straight. I shouldn't have allowed Gavin to bring me home, but I – ' A whimper, and Richard _shakes_. The way he's reacting is so very delightful to watch, 60 almost feels bad for him. Almost. 'But there's errors, I can't – I can't even reboot, now. The last diagnostic suggests that, ah, perhaps with the right stimulation? I might be able to…' He lets out such an agonized moan, quicksilver fire.

'Poor, poor thing,' 60 comments, dryly, and slides his hand backwards, into Richard's hair. Soft, too soft for a machine that was meant to be a killer, but it has its purposes, he supposes. 'And yet, you sent your human away? Don't you trust him to see you in such a state?’

Richard flinches. 'I need – I need to contact Connor, I never should have – '

'Ah, and why would I let you do that?'

'I need him – he can help…'

'Oh? I really don't think you're listening to me, my _dear_ – how would that benefit me, exactly?' He yanks Richard's head from side to side, just to see if he can get away with it – and he can. Richard whimpers, jaw tensing, something like hate in his eyes, something closer to compliance in the sounds he can't seem to stop himself making. The next whimper that tears out of him is staticy, his LED cycling from pure red to yellow and red, quick cycling flickers. A few more swirls of it, and then it's back to red, crimson, panicked. 60 couldn't actually stop him from contacting Connor, if that was what he wanted, but the virus is playing havoc on Richard's supposedly superior systems, he really isn't thinking straight at all.'

'Maybe I prefer you this way. You aren't even fighting back.'

He jerks Richard's head backwards, and just as 60 has said, Richard doesn't even attempt to pull away. His lips are parted, they seem too incredibly pink, and he sits there, so very placid, even as his LED displays his distress. 60 dips down low, to lick his way around Richard's mouth. A soft whimper, and even though 60's ability to track an individual's vitals are rather limited, he notes how Richard's stress levels spike in all the right ways. 'Some part of you was hoping I'd be here, waiting for you.' He bites at Richard's bottom lip, _hard_. Trickles of thirium leak free, and 60 licks the chemical sweet tang of it from his mouth.

'If you wanted to be with Connor, you wouldn't have come _here_. If you trusted Gavin absolutely, you wouldn't have sent him away.’

Richard's eyes, somewhat unfocused - though they're still locked on him, even as he trembles, as he whimpers. He really must hate this, needing it, and 60 is only telling him the truth. 'Please?' he asks, _pleads_ , and 60 considers it a moment before letting his hair go.

'Well, since you asked nicely. Now, why don't you get down on your knees for me, pet?'

Richard's glare shows how displeased he is with this turn of events, and yet, he still slides off of the couch, that lightweight frame of his hitting the ground with a soft thump. 60 takes a step back, to better appreciate the view. The light at the other android's temple still burns that same bright red, and his hands are curled into loose fists. His head is held high, even as he trembles.

'Now, don't play like that, my dear. You _want_ this, you _need_ my help. Don't you think think it appropriate to show at least a little appreciation?'

His tension eases, like the release of a bowstring. He slumps a little, head dropping. 60 grins to himself, seething with delight. Richard has made this too ridiculously easy a situation for him to take advantage of, he can't help but push and prod. 'Well then, that's much better. Now, keep your hands to yourself.'

60 steps forward, cornering him in with the couch at his back. Richard trembles, his breathing low, rough, full of heavy distortion. 60 lowers a hand to cup his chin, lifting his head up some. 'I almost wish I could interface with you,' he comments, casually. He says no more. Let Richard take from it whatever he will.

'Now, are you going to be compliant?'

'Yes,' Richard grits out. More static. Heat in his voice, heat on his skin.

'Good pet,' 60 murmurs, stroking his other hand through Richard's hair. A low groan escapes him, even as his posture tenses up. But his chin still rests so placidly against 60's palm, and Richard's skin is still so _warm_. The movement of his head is fluid almost, as 60 leads it from one side to the other.

His hand slips back, some, to squeeze at Richard's jaw, press his mouth open. He takes it, like he's taken everything else that 60 has given him, as the fingers of 60's other hand drag across the nanoskin at the back of his neck. Richard is good for him, doesn't move, and he keeps his hands to himself. But he lets out a low whimper, as though he is perfectly aware of what is going to come next – and he's quite an advanced model, after all. His processors are among the very best, of course he _knows_.

'Now, how about we see if we can get to the root of the matter?'

The skin peels away, showing the off-white beneath. A panel reveals itself, the lines of it nearly indistinguishable from the chassis it is designed to be a part of. 60's fingers glide across a specific point, and the paneling slides open, reveals the wiring beneath.

60 moistens his bottom lip, strokes across the delicate wire, slate gray and sky blue. Richard convulses in his hand, and 60 smiles as he presses his thumb into the warm, wet cavity of Richard's mouth. He presses two fingers deeper into the mess of wiring, into the thick wetness of the thirium that acts as insulation.

Richard gasps, his whole body jolting. 60 holds his head steady, though, pressing his thumb down against the row of Richard's teeth. A shiver, a sharp exhale of breath. 60 smiles down at him, twists his fingers deeper, as Richard _moans_. The hum of it reverberates around 60's thumb, which is, indeed, pleasant. It makes 60 tilt his head to the side, slowly dragging his thumb out of Richard's mouth. It makes him wonder what _other_ distorted sounds he might draw out of Richard's malfunctioning processors, if he took the time.

So, he twists even deeper into Richard's wires, the thirium is so _thick_. He crooks a finger, and tugs upwards, as Richard's vocal box explodes in a bursts of harsh static. The other android begins to slump, but 60 reacts, catches him neatly, palm meeting chin. 'Really,' 60 huffs. 'You need to get a grip on yourself, Richard. This is embarrassing.'

With a crackle and a groan, he attempts to straighten himself. He wavers, slightly, and 60 caresses his cheek with the backs of his fingers. 'See? I knew you could do it. Good pet.'

A flutter of reaction, Richard wincing. His light flickers red to yellow, yellow back to red. 'Oh, you _like_ that? Dirty deviant slut.'

It can't help, that 60 goes unbuckle his belt, tugging it free. To unbutton his pants. Richard blinks at him, slowly, as 60 smiles down at him, towers over him, as he lowers the zip. It's quite the welcome invitation, the way 60 sees it, how the pants fall undone. And it's obvious, of course it's obvious, and Richard is supposed to be _smart_.

'Well? What are you waiting for?'

Richard blinks, once more, then leans forward, biting hold of one bit of fabric and then attempting to pull it down. It's slow, awkward work, made more so as 60 continues to fiddle with the wiring at the back of his neck. It's somewhat heady, really, liquid heat rolling through his cold, corrupted systems. He could destroy Richard, if he wanted, and the RK900 would let it happen. Could rip the wires right out of his neck. Could push him down, and crack him open, and tear out his beating heart.

But how would that benefit him, really? It's not what he wants.

Like, how he wants Richard to make more progress, tugging his pants down bit by bit. How he can't help it, the smile that flits onto his lips, smug and tight, as Richard struggles to accomplish even that. Because he wants it, to continue his assault on the wires at Richard's exposed neck. He can hardly keep up with it, and the task that 60 has set before him. What he _wants_ is for Richard to get his mouth on him already, then 60 can figure out just how much the supposedly superior model can take.

The constant monotony of his red LED is broken up as it flashes yellow, in small flickers, processing, _processing_ , amid his delicious distress. He accomplishes the task quite nicely, in the end, though it isn't in 60 to _praise_ him for that. That isn't what this is. 'Finally,' he sighs, shaking his head. 'That was quite disappointing, honestly – could you have possibly taken any longer?'

Richard's still being so obedient, keeping his hands to himself. But he _whines_ , a crackle of distortion, hot like a live-wire. Because he's doing his best, he's trying so hard, and 60 does reach down to caress his cheek, lightly. Richard presses into the touch, eyes fluttering with a quiet sort of relief. 'Well?' He draws his hand away, and that draws Richard back out of himself.

'I'm sure you know what to do with one of these?' He gestures to his own phallus. 'You and your human, you certainly _fornicate_ enough.' It isn't as if 60 doesn't indulge Reed, as well, but that is hardly the point he's trying to make. And then, idly, almost bored. 'Open your mouth.'

Richard does, letting his head lean back. His tongue is slick with analysis fluid, a deep shade of pink. His eyes slip shut as 60 slides a hand into his hair, but he tuts his tongue as he shakes his head, gives Richard's soft hair a sharp yank. 'None of that. I want you to keep your eyes open at all times, do you understand?'

Another soft whine, but there's less distortion.

'Well?'

' _Yes_ ,' he grits out. Again. And he must hate it, how it bubbles up – but then he lets the corruption overriding his system sweep him away once more, and he goes so pleasantly _slack_. Shudders, as 60 releases his hold on his head. 60 takes hold of his own erection and slides it into Richard's mouth, slow at first but ending on a rough shove. Richard takes it, but 60 had not been overly concerned. He knew the RK900's schematics almost as well as he knew his own, and Richard not not been designed with a working gag reflex in place.

So, 60 takes exploits the opening he's been given. He twists his fingers back into the mess of Richard's wires, and he lets out a desperate, almost choking sound, as 60 thrusts into him as deep as he can. It made no sense to him, really, why CyberLife would have designed him as they had – it said more about the loathsome humans who had built him, and not himself.

Then, with a disinterested sigh, he jerks upwards on a wire, then strokes back down along it, feather light. 'Look at you, though. You're such a mess.'

He plucks at a delicate connection, snapping it free from its port. Richard shudders, goes completely slack against him, but he's still taking 60's dick, he's been given no other option. His eyes, so pale, so desperate, so incredibly _wide_. There's no telling what's running through the deviant's mind, but there's silvery slick drool leaking from his mouth, tinged the faintest blue. 'Disgusting,' 60 sneers.

Richard whimpers, and that's desperate, too, him pleading in the only way he can.

'You might have been made for this sort of thing,' 60 murmurs. It isn't praise. 'Even Gavin puts up more a fuss when he's choking on my dick, _Nines_.' All the response Richard gives him, it centers on his eyes, in the static buzzing of his needy moans, how he hates what 60 is saying but he's going to keep taking it.

With the malfunctioning state of his voice box, there's an almost constant thrumming radiating outwards, an altogether pleasant sensation, hot but _tight_. It's at its strongest where 60's erection is buried into the narrow passage of his throat, constant humming and constant tight constriction. The restless shift as Richard attempts to swallow, but all it does is cause even further stimulation. And it is good, yes, and Gavin _would_ be choking on it. There wouldn't just be drool leaking out of his mouth, his entire face would be reddened with exertion. Tears would fall from his eyes, depending on how rough 60 had allowed himself to be, depending on how good Gavin had been for him. A sudden thought stabs its way into 60's mind, and he finds he dislikes it out of pretext – this is all a matter of trust. A house of cards that has been built up quite intentionally, that could fall apart at the slightest breath. Richard could have gone to Connor, but no, he chose to come to _60_. Choice. Down on his knees, because it's what 60 had ordered him to do. But only allowing himself to be put in that position in the first place, because that was his _choice_.

60 sneers. He draws his hand away from Richard's exposed wiring, grabs onto his ear and _twists_ , begins fucking into his mouth in earnest. It isn't _right_ , the angle is off, there's not enough force. 60 grabs onto Richard's head with his other hand, fingers digging in cruelly. Which would sate him better if Richard did more than _moan_ , his lashes flickering – though his eyes remain open, so he's at least keeping that order in mind.

He clutches at the other android, harder, the nanoskin on his hands flickering from the pressure. Even the hair covering Richard's head quickly melts away, showing just the sleek smoothness of his of the white beneath. His LED burns red as he makes wet, choking sounds around 60's dick. He grinds against Richard's face, grunting as the textured lining of the other android's throat ripples as he moans. It punches the orgasm right out of 60's chest, overriding subroutines he had taken manual control of. He wants to ram himself deeper, make Richard keep taking it. He does, swallowing and swallowing, until 60 rips away from him, pushing him aside.

He stares down at Richard dispassionately as the line between chassis and nanoskin flickers and blurs, running together, as he regains a little of his control. He lifts a hand up to the back of his neck, shoving his fingers into the exposed wires and snaps essential connections back into place. His chin jerks up, his hand falls away. All the while, 60 rights himself, and now, Richard straightens up, squaring his shoulders. His LED is still that bright, constant red, and he wipes across his mouth, snaps a fine line of synthetic drool.

There's at least one thing that 60 can take from this, how wrecked he already looks – the wetness on his chin, and though the thirium would have vanished to a human's eyes, to 60, he can still see it, bright and clear. His self-heal protocol must be malfunctioning, as well, because 60's bite to his lip has yet to be repaired. There's impetus there for 60 to continue _helping_ him, plenty of it. Who knows just how far he can get Richard to bend?

To break.

As it is, he turns away from the kneeling RK900, and straightens his tie. 'Come along then, I suppose I'm not finished with you yet.'

There's a groan, weary but wary, and then silence. 60 has made his way to the bedroom and waited more than should be needed, by the time that Richard follows him. He braces a hand against the door frame, leaning into it, staring into the bedroom – his and Reed's bedroom, it should be said. Richard is quiet, resentful almost. Reed has griped at 60 for his lack of personal boundaries, as if he actually cares about anything else.

60 takes him in, huffs quietly. He looks awful, the virus – and 60 himself – taking quite a toll on him. He buckles some, slumps against the door. Turns his head, forehead against the door frame now. His breathing is low, but quick, and _hot_. Richard, for the very first time since 60 found himself in this situation, lifts a hand to his stomach plating. His fingers seem intent on digging into his own chassis, twitching restlessly. Maybe all 60 needs to do is sit back, and let Richard wreck even more havoc upon himself. 60 doesn't have to tear him apart, if Richard is willing to do the work for him.

He sits down at the edge of the bed, crosses one leg over the other. As tempting as that all is, 60 is more… invested than that, it seems. Such an ending would be too simple. No, he wants Richard to hate himself, for this. More than he already must.

'Well, show me what I have to work with.'

Richard pushes from the door, panting roughly. His nanoskin glimmers faintly, almost as if he were sweating – but it's impossible, a trick of the light. His pale eyes are close to colorless. He shakes as he grabs onto his shirt, begins stripping it off, as efficiently as he can manage, near mechanically. 60 tuts his tongue, unimpressed, and Richard stops, staring at him dully. Equally unimpressed.

'You have no sense of presentation,' 60 drawls, stretching out as he leans back. 'You could at least _try_.'

He takes his clothing off slowly, carefully, trembling with effort, the virus such a hard strain on his systems. He pauses, for a moment or so, and makes eye contact with 60, each time a new article has been shed – and he folds it, neatly, even as he shivers, or bites at his lip, showing 60 just how badly he needs to be _quick_.

Richard sets down the last item, then turns to fully face 60. Their gazes meet again, briefly, before Richard turns his face away. He does not attempt to cover himself, but 60 smirks at this display of shyness. 'Hands and knees, get up on the bed.'

A nod, one that's too quick, there's no hiding it. Perhaps Richard is getting tired of their game, but 60 is only getting started. He climbs up onto the bed, moves until he stops. 60 keeps his distance, to appraise him, to judge him, knowing that if Richard wasn't currently infected with this insidious virus, he wouldn't be moving at all.

As it is, he's trembling faintly, breathing hot and heavy, sometimes moaning despite the fact that 60 hasn't laid a hand upon him, yet. With a small smirk, he joins Richard on the bed, sits beside him casually. Strokes the tips of his fingers down the curve of Richard's spine, savors how he shudders and groans and goes tense.

'You're beautiful like this, you know. Almost perfect, really, and you're falling apart.'

'Please,' Richard gasps.

'Please, pet? Please _what_?'

' _Do_ something,' he breathes out, and 60 chuckles, settles back.

'Funny. You act as though you're in a position to make any sort of demands…'

The passage of time has no bearing on an android, at least, not on 60. Richard, though, is an entirely different story. He sits and watches as the RK900 waits on his hands and knees, hair falling in limp waves, dick hanging heavily, leaking a steady trail of near transparent pre-ejaculate down onto his and his human's shared bed. His fingers, bare-white, are tangled in the covers. The flesh flows back into place midway up his forearm, flickering and flashing where the two edges meet.

'I want to watch you prepare yourself,' he says, fifteen minutes and thirty seven seconds later, and Richard gives a shuddering breath.

'I don't need – ' he begins, but then he settles down onto his side, drawing one of his legs up at the bend of the knee, as he lifts his head to stare at 60. No bright defiance, only bleary acceptance. Clearly the virus has worn him down to a dull edge, the fight is gone.

60 leans forward, crossing his arms as he juts his chin. 'I want to see those clever fingers of yours at work. But before you start, why don't you be a good pet and turn off your orgasm protocol?' And he smirks, as a flicker of challenge momentarily flashes in Richard's eyes. 'I wouldn't want you coming too soon, please understand.'

That's the whole entire point of this little expedition of theirs, Richard needs to _come_ , but 60 simply doesn't believe he's earned it yet. He's not yet approached critical levels, 60 will take care of all that in due time.

'Well?'

Richard grits out, 'It's done,' and 60 smiles.

'Very well, whenever you're ready to continue.'

Richard remembers himself, lowering his head but slanting a look at 60 through his lashes. He's making a show of it, running his hand down his chest, lower and lower with each shuddering breath. He pauses, eye contact just fractionally bolder, as he runs a finger round the faint circle that indicates where the casing for his thirium pup regulator is housed. A flicker of his eyes, and Richard's hand slides further down, as Richard wets his lips, begins to pant. 'Please?' He curls in on himself as his hand bypasses his aching erection, and he whines sharply as he his whole body twitches, as he pushes a finger into a hole that is seemingly more than he can handle.

He slaps his trembling hand down in front of him, two fingers showing just the faintest trace of slick. 'I can't – '

'You _can_ ,' 60 patiently replies. 'Or I supposed I could always call _Gavin_ …' He leaves it at that, voice trailing off, and Richard whines as he curls back in on himself, thrusts his hand between his legs. The cry that follows is static shocked distortion, and 60 smiles before he allows himself to creep closer.

'See, I knew you could handle it, my dear,' and he settles down beside Richard, coaxing his head up on his lap. He pets a hand through Richard's silky hair, smiling down at him as he tuts his tongue. 'Nines,' and the tone of his voice shifts. Even though they sound absolutely identical, logically, it's Connor talking now, not 60. 'You worry me. Are you sure this… stimulation, will assist you?'

Slowly, like he was drowsy, or he was drowning, Richard nods his head against 60's thigh, and 60 sighs as he tangles his fingers in soft, synthetic locks. He's warm, too warm, it's burning through cloth and down to skin. 60 feels it, deep, inside his chassis, almost at his very core. 'I'll do whatever I can to help you, Nines,' he says, and Richard blinks up at him, not quite sure what he's seeing.

60 smiles, one of those disgustingly sweet smiles that Connor favors, and Richard smiles back, weakly.

'Go on then, okay? But don't hide, I want to see you.'

Another drowsy nod, and Richard pushes back on his fingers. There's three of them, now, and the sounds he makes are breathless, helpless, only he's gasping Connor's name, as well. 60 twists into his hair, yanks hard, and the cry that escapes Richard's voice box is fragmented, sharp. The words that follow are crackling with distortion, nearly incomprehensible. 'Connor, please, please, _please_.'

60's never seen him so soft, so malleable, aching to be touched. Because he's untouchable, always in control. Maybe if Richard is very good for him, and he is very good in return, Richard might want to play again, once he's feeling himself. Oh, but he won't make it easy, it'd be its own challenge. 60 wouldn't want it any other way.

'Nines, please, I want to see you,' he urges, still as Connor, and Richard gasps, breathy, weak, letting his head tilt back, a curl of hair flopping weakly against his brow. His eyes flutter open, a fresh trickle of thirium is slowly slipping sideways across his chin, from where he'd bit his lip open in a different location than before.

'Connor,' he whispers, sounding almost out of it. Delirious.

He has an even better idea, suddenly, and his voice changes completely (he's done this with Gavin before, after all, and the results were _delicious_ ). 'Ah, look at you, you're making such a fucking mess.'

Richard's eyes go wide. 'Gavin?' he slurs, and moans, as 60 slicks a finger across his chin, slips it into his mouth. Pops it out, only to press against the plushness of Richard's bottom lip. 'Come on, babe, open your mouth.'

Richard squints up at him, cheeks flushed darkly with color, but his mouth falls open, slack, and 60 hums to himself, pleased, as he slides three fingers into the warmth of Richard's mouth, as he closes in around 60's fingers without needing to be prompted. 'God, Nines, you're so good at this. Yeah, that's it, suck my fingers while you work yourself open.'

Richard shudders as he breathes, as he moves, minutely, as he fucks himself on his own fingers. And it's beautiful, and Richard is all his, at least for the time being. Pliant, soft, so good for him. 'Wish you could see yourself. You're fucking filthy right now, babe.'

A garbled whimper, and Richard sucks harder, eyes rolling back in his head, lashes fluttering. It pulls at 60, somewhere deep inside. He's not actually sure he likes how it makes him feel.

'Being so good for me,' he murmurs, and thick tears are leaking free of Richard's eyes as he smiles, weakly, around the fingers in his mouth.

'Gavin,' he groans, but the word is muffled. His tongue flicks at 60's fingers, and with his free hand, 60 twists his fingers into Richard's hair. Yanks back, and Richard lets go with a rough, staticky whine. ' _Gavin_ , please, it hurts, it _hurts_ , make it stop?'

He goes from yanking Richard's hair, to petting it. Directs him with a gentle enough nudge, and Richard shifts up on one arm, mouths at the cloth stretched tight across his groin area. Within seconds, Richard's analysis fluid has soaked right through it.

'If I could figure out how to keep you like this, I would,' he murmurs, in his own voice.

Trembling as he strains to lift his head, Richard whines, his voice box malfunctioning. ' _No_.'

60 huffs. 'You're really in no position to do anything about it, are you?'

A sob, Richard's head buried against his thigh. ' _No_.'

'Are you still fingering yourself, my dear?'

' _Yes_.'

'Good, good.'

Richard whimpers.

'That means you can stop.' He shoves at Richard's shoulder. 'On your hands and knees again, I think I'm ready to have you.'

Richard moves to do as he's been told, tears wetting his face. 'Gavin,' he mumbles. 'Want Gavin back, please?'

'Gavin's not here anymore, Richard. Maybe he's never coming back.'

'No – '

'Don't you worry, my dear. I'll take very good care of you, I promise.' 60 almost smiles at him, as he pushes against Richard's shoulder blades, watching as he sinks down onto his elbows and leaving his ass on display. He's so _wet_. As 60 moves to shed at least some of his clothing, once more beginning with his belt. Richard's legs are trembling, flushed softly with color, slick from the lubricant that's running down his thighs.

'Please, please.' His hips shift, restless. And it's fetching, Richard is so out of his mind right now, tugging at the covers and spreading his legs wider. Needy, desperate, begging. 'Gavin, please, let me have him back.'

'Oh, shut up,' 60 scolds him, sighs. 'And calm down.' He moves into position, shoves his pants down. He could tease Richard more, stretch it all out, have him sobbing with want when he's already a sobbing mess, but he's so hot and maybe, just maybe, 60 needs this, too. He slides his hands up the sides of his legs, then squeezes at his hips. Tugs him backwards with one hand, pressing just the head of his cock to that slick, needy hole.

'Ahhh---'

60 snaps forward, with a small, satisfied sigh. Sinks in deep, and Richard _wails_ , garbled and absolutely wrecked. He remains like that, for a moment, Richard fitting him so perfectly. Feels the flutter of his body, an excess of heat, how his thirium pump is thundering as it thumps and thumps and thumps, perhaps his regulator is close to losing control. Richard whimpers, shoves backwards, and 60 shakes his head as he pets Richard's hip, grinding into him before sliding out.

'See? Doesn't that make it all better?'

He pushes back in, and the only answer Richard gives him is a wet, broken sob.

'Shh, shh. You've been so good for me, you've put up with so much,' and Richard clenches around him, his very body reacting to that softly given praise. 'I can help you, Richard, let me help you. I can be everything you need.'

Richard lifts his head up, weakly, then lets it drop back down, his hair a tousled mess. And he's delirious, too out of his own head, so all he says is 'thank you,' as if with no recollection of the emotional torment 60 has exposed him to. And isn't that just so very good of him, even though his voice is rough, broken almost, garbled with static.

60 smiles to himself, presses his thumb into the skin of Richard's hip, watches as it fades away in fragmented flickers to the chassis beneath. A hard nail digs at the shell of equally hard skin, durable but pliant like plasticine. Wants to leave a mark behind, something that Richard's self-heal protocol wouldn't be able to mend.

So he presses as hard as he can, nail digging into the malleable surface, listens to the frantic in and out of Richard's breath, the needy little noises. After he's himself again, once the virus has been flushed from his system, this will still remain. Right now, it isn't as if he's in any sort of pain. At least, 60 isn't causing him any pain, not now, not anymore. Though he could, if it were necessary. But it's not.

'Please – '

He's done what he wanted, and he doesn't want _anything_ , even as he toys with Richard, even as he keeps Gavin pinned so securely underneath his thumb. It jars him, sends his LED spinning red. It makes him see, clearly, that he should stop this. That this is too much. He is a machine, without likes, without needs.

But he does want this. Needs this. Is swept away by how much it's true. He never would have started any of this, if it wasn't what he wanted. Wouldn't have even offered to _help_ Richard, if there wasn't something he'd be getting out of it, too.

And if something does happen, and it _does_ , he makes no note of it as he grips at Richard with both hands, fingernails biting at his chassis, because that one small crescent imprint, it isn't enough. Richard lets out a shuddering moan that's almost a cry, as 60 slams into him, hopes to leave some other mark behind inside him, as well.

'Please, please, please,' he's begging, shaking, skin glimmering as if with an illusion of sweat – it had to have something to do with how the synthetic disguise flickering in and out, showing snatches of the chassis beneath. And Richard keeps on begging, telling 60 much it hurts, how it's too much, _too much_ , and that should do something. 60 should be delighted, that Richard has broken for him, this way. But it's only the virus, and 60 – 

Oh, what's the point, really?

'Please, please, I need to come, let me come?’

'Oh yes,' he almost laughs, but he doesn't stop, fucking into Richard because he – because he _can_. 'Not yet, my dear,' he growls with a sneer. 'Soon, pet, soon.'

He sinks backwards, but loops an arm around Richard, pulls him back along with him. He slides back down, and the feeling of it, it's too good. 'Finish what you've started,' he snarls, and Richard nods, lifting himself up and then sinking back down. Richard is so tight and it's good, it's too good. He doesn't – he doesn't need this, but that doesn't make him stop.

When he comes, it hits him like a shot to the thirium pump regulator, breathless, hot, almost stunned. He holds Richard against him, bites at his shoulder. Richard cries out, and 60 – not out of any sense of duty, or pity, it isn't that he _cares_ – reaches round to grip at his burning hot erection. He pumps his hand up and down several times, growls 'Just come already,' and an electric whine escapes Richard's voice box.

' _C-can't_ – '

'Oh – fuck, right.' He's so _lost_ in it, the level of control. And he's deviant, he's a mess, he's really no better than Nines is, _shit_ , Richard is, is he? No better than Connor. 'Turn on your orgasm protocol and come – ' he slams back into Richard's body, not that he's chasing after his own pleasure anymore, but he wasn't built with a refractory period, he's still hard and Richard feels _good_. Richard tightens around him, all but explodes as he comes, right on cue, right when 60 told him he was allowed. He collapses forward, sliding free of 60's body, and 60 lets him. Still hot, still catching his breath, running his hands back through his hair in frustration, in some sort of loss.

–  
–

The only way he can reclaim any of this, show that he's the one with power, is to leave. So he cleans himself, up, and leaves Richard in forced stasis, curled in on himself atop the covers, naked, covered in his own come. He receives no nasty messages, no demands to know what the fuck had happened, so Richard must wake and put himself back together before his pet human ever gets home.

He'll see them again when he sees them, and not a moment sooner.

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely deviating because of That Ass? I mean, sure, whY NOT.
> 
> Come scream at me on tumblr (danae-b), twitter (danae__b) or right here in the comments, as I myself scream into the void, lmfao.


End file.
